My favorite ballpark

Of the 50 ballparks I’ve visited to cover games – 29 that are used today and 21 that were replaced — one clearly has the most challenging working environment for a ball writer.

There’s virtually no parking. The press box acoustics are iffy. The clubhouses are tiny, dingy and muggy, the most cramped in the league. The journey down the narrow ramps and concourses to the visiting clubhouse is long enough and busy enough that an eighth-inning departure is recommended. Returning to the press box is akin to walking up Mt. Tam. Elevator? On the opposite side of the building. Sit down to write about the game, the mind is zapped with all the earsplitting garbage blowers.

But, boy, I love Wrigley Field.

Personal favorite, Tuesday night’s goofy rain delay notwithstanding. It’s where the ambiance outweighs any nuisances. Where the history outweighs any inconveniences. An original, a national treasure, a party atmosphere like no other in baseball. Then again, Cubs fans get a lot of practice. Not a single championship in the Wrigley era, which spans 100 years, so the diversion is the party.

The intimacy, brick walls and manual scoreboard were copied in designs for some newer ballparks, and the iconic ivy-covered outfield wall, while not exactly protective for defenders, is breathtaking for fans.

Classic views include a bit of Lake Michigan (well beyond the right-field wall), the rooftop seating (the landlords have delayed the Cubs’ plan for a $500 million renovation) and the El train that, as Elwood Blues said, comes by “so often you won’t even notice it.”

Maybe it was the summer visits and 5-mile bike rides down Clark Street to Sheffield and Addison that initiated the Wrigley affection. Walk in as a kid and see the ivy and brick, blue pinstripe uniforms and Don Kessinger, Manny Trillo (love the middle infielders) and the final chapter of Ernie Banks, and the losing is secondary.

For players, fans and media, the place is too inefficient, too antiquated, too smelly and too small.